Requiem of Sand
by Ho-sama
Summary: Death. It happens to all. These are the thoughts that ran through his mind...Manga spoilers from the latest chapters. [One shot]


**Disclaimer: **If I owned it, I'd save Gaara!

(SOBS)

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Requiem of Sand

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In a dark room – a hollow cave – serious, merciless eyes watch as a limp body levitates to it's doom. 

A spark ignites, the body whips back. Even in an unconscious state, the container wrenches in pain. Silent faces smile in the darkness. Everything is as it should be.

A horrible howl of sheer agony and screeches of a tortured soul shatter the silence and rattle the walls. Rocks fall and crumble at the sound. The volume and intensity of pain and fear releases from the body like a sorrowful song of absolute suffering. The outburst is bloodcurdling.

Something is being pulled from the body. Something is being wrenched and beaten and squeezed and torn out of the body. What is it? The thing he needs most. The thing that got him this far.

He's dying.

He'll die without that soul of his. The shrieks only continue louder and more intense until it seems impossible for them to continue. But they never stop – never stop howling and rumbling the very Earth. Somewhere deep inside the body a light of recognition shines. Does he know he's dying? How terribly cruel.

Inside the body is a weakened boy. He's no more than a pale, tired boy. He can't explain his sorrow, although he knows it's always been there. He has always been dying, but now it's for real.

_Why can't I move?_

The eyes and mouth are flung wide open forming a face of wretchedness. There's a horror about looking at a face losing it's soul. The life bursts out in beams and power leaves the body with surprising eagerness. Is even the soul betraying the boy?

_I can't move! Why does it hurt so much? Shukaku..._

Ironically, his soul is a demon. A demon sustains and protects him. It protects him from death, but also from life. A greedy demon that only wants to have control of the body to devour it for himself is the soul of this boy. The two cannot live apart, regardless of who is in control. The boy inside sighs and tries his hardest not to resign, but he knows what's going on. It's pointless. The pain is not apart from him, even if he seems to be in another world.

_I'm being torn apart. It's already the end. Something like this is what I should have expected. Sooner or later...seems like it's sooner._

He collapses in on himself. Unable to move, unable to act, he's only watching his own demise. It's what we call death, the fate shared by all. The roar of screams still does not decrease. He can't even recognize who is making that sound, although he guesses it's him. Arms wrapped around himself, he waits inside the body he cannot control. Does he want to die?

_Why did I live this long to begin with? Why couldn't I die when I tried to do it myself? Now it's happening, but it has to hurt so much. It's hurts so much I can't feel anything. Why? What good has life done for me? What did I **want** in life? I..._

The traitorous soul, the murderous demon, is halfway on it's way to abandoning the body it never loved. Terror envelopes the body as it loses more power. The gruesome lament continues to shatter the ears that hear it. Not even the soul loved this boy...

_Did anyone? Love...That was not for me._

Inside the body, he uncurls from his position. He wants to see. He wants to be aware of his last moments. His hand drawls his attention. It's a porcelain white thing suspended in air. What is it's purpose? He stares at it completely mystified. This hand has crushed and destroyed numerous hearts and lives. Never did it look so white. It was always killing to survive. It killed to find that purpose.

_I never knew why I had to live...why I couldn't die. Was I supposed to be loved? Don't people live to be loved? There was never..._

_never anyone just for me._

An enormous sound – not coming from the body – resounds in the hall. The giant monster, contrived by other humans has a firm grip on his soul. Claws stronger than life tear and rip away ferociously. It will never give up. Neither will the feet moving to the rescue. They're moving entirely too late. Would it have eased his passing to know that perhaps there was someone who cared?

_Nothing matters now._

The body falls.


End file.
